Love and Space
by Ku-chyan
Summary: Ford and Arthur in one hundred moments. Slash. for fanfic100
1. Repeat

Dislaimer: I don't own H2G2.  
Pairing: Ford and Arthur. That means slash.  
A/N: I'd like to claim the pairing for Ford and Arthur at fanfic100. If I get it, these will be what I put up. They'll probably be AUish and OOC at times, but it's fun. And I've always said that any F/A is good F/A.  
Prompt:038. Touch

* * *

Ford was a hypocrite.

This fact didn't surprise Arthur in the least. In this particular case, however, it troubled him. Wetting the tip of his towel lightly with water, Arthur dabbed carefully at his Betelgeusian companion's split lip. "Really, Ford, what were you thinking?" Arthur admonished. He pulled away to frown disapprovingly at Ford.  
Said Betelgeusian grimaced and touched his rapidly bruising left eye gently before defending himself. "That…that Proctorian was propositioning you!"

"Proposit…Ford! All he asked was how many ice cubes I like in my Gin ah' Tonic."

Ford bristled in remembrance," I know! Can you believe the audacity he had to-"

"Ford." Arthur sighed and rewet his towel. "You could have been seriously hurt."

"But I wasn't. I'm fine, Arthur."

The earthman began wiping softly at the scratch on Ford's check. "Well," he teased," You damn nearly weren't."


	2. One Too Many

Prompt: 042. Triangle  
Word Count: 391  
Author's Notes: I was watching this show on Animal Planet called Meercat Manor and the dominant female's partner is named Zaphod. That's why this is here.

* * *

The first thing Zaphod realizes when he wakes up is that he feels good. Real good. The kind of good you can only get when you manage to wake up before the alcohol wears off and have a warm body pressed tightly against your own.

A very warm body.

A very warm body, sans clothing, that was definitely not female and, judging by the size, was definitely not Ford, which only left… 

Zaphod cracked one eye open and caught sight of the messy brown hair, the rarely seen arms, and the eyes that would no doubt open to reveal dazed grey.

Oh, Belgium.

After a startled second, Zaphod began taking deep breaths and began to painstakingly, little by little disentangle himself from the monkey man. "Slowly, carefully, slowly." One of his heads muttered while the other held a determined look. Placing a pillow in the earthman's arms, he took a few hesitant steps back and heaved two sighs of relief before spinning around.

Zaphod came eyes-to-hair with something orange-ish, short, and growling.

"Err…" one of Zaphod's heads supplied helpfully, and the other chuckled nervously. "Hey Ford…dearest, kindest semi-cousin."

Ford's eyes were slits of icy blue, his upper lip curled back to bare teeth, his fingers white-knuckled around his towel. He was visibly trembling.

"Now….now Ford." Zaphod held three hands in front of him as a gesture of peace. "It's definitely not what it looks like." He took a step back as the snarling Betelgeusian took a step forward and began lifting his towel.

"Arthur. Is. Mine." Ford hissed.

* * *

Arthur groaned as he awoke, his hands twisting into the sheets as he stretched. He had a taste like something dead in his mouth and when he cracked a bleary eye open, the artificial light made the hammering in his head grow tenfold. He moaned in pain and wearily began groping around for his dressing gown, deciding that if he didn't want his head to explode it was probably best to ignore his lack of other clothing. He stumbled out the room in search for Ford and his miraculous hangover cure, not even noting the crumbled body of a certain ex-galactic president that he nearly tripped over. 


	3. Like Home

036. Smell  
Word Count:148

* * *

He'd buried his nose in the folds of that awful jacket, arms set loosely around small shoulders, relishing the feel of ginger hair against his face. There were hands gripping his waist, tightly and comfortingly, and he breathed deeply.  
Arthur thought of England. Of wet days and grey skies, of grassy plains and bright gardens, of teashops and news columns. He thought of his house, of his yard, of coming home after a long day. He thought of all the places he'd been and all the places he hadn't had a chance to visit. He thought of Earth.

When he began to laugh, Ford pulled away looking annoyed. "Arthur. Can't you see we're having a moment here?"

'Well, yes, but…you smell…" Arthur pulled Ford close again and buried his face into the Betelgeusian's shoulder.

"Earthy." He finally said, not caring if he was a bit muffled." Like earth."


	4. At Least

Prompt: 008. Weeks  
Word Count: 297

* * *

After their first meeting, it would be weeks before they saw each other again. Ford Prefect never spent long in the same place, didn't have any reason to, but seven bars after the …… he still couldn't get that incredibly dull, brown haired earthman out of his head.

"He was borrrring." Ford slurred to the barmaid. "Very boring." He insisted, not noticing her exasperated eye roll as she set another foaming drink in front of him. When she had left, he continued to himself, "A completely boring, boring, boring, drunk."

Ford had been with his share of earthmen and woman, for sure. All kinds. But it had never really mattered to him, never been important to him. He hadn't even slept with this particular earthman. It had only been a kiss.

And it had been, the stranded hitchhiker mused over his piss tasting drink, the best kiss of his life. Which was saying something, definitely. Ford was a very experienced Betelgeusian.  
It hadn't really just been a kiss though. It had been a build up; the way the Englishman's lips had quirked into polite smiles, the way his abnormally normal fingers had gripped the beer glass as he raised it for one of Ford's inane toasts, the way those dull, plain eyes had gradually glazed with alcohol.

All of that Ford had liked. Really liked. Liked in a way that he couldn't remember ever liking anything before. Liked in a way he never imagined he'd be able to like something on this planet.

So Ford Prefect, downing the last of his drink and throwing down money, stumbling out of the bar and stumbling more down the street, decided that if he was going to be stuck on this miserable planet then he might as well enjoy it.


	5. What I Mean

Prompt: 040. Sight  
Word Count: 466

* * *

Arthur's dressing gown had turned a strange color.

He stared in horror at the mass of cloth that his trembling fingers clutched. He took a series of quick, shallow breaths before pitching toward the spaceship floor in a dead weight.

When he awoke, Ford Prefect's face blurred into visual a few centimeters from his own and fixed him with a rather intense stare. "All right there, Arthur?"

"I..wha…" he caught site of his dressing gown in Ford's hands. "My dressing gown!" he gasped. "Oh yeah." Ford held it up for inspection. "It looks horrid, Arthur. What'd you do to it?"

"I!" Arthur scrambled to his feet and snatched the dressing gown from Ford. "I didn't do anything. I left it here while I took a shower and when I came back it was…was…Oh Ford this is terrible!"

Ford chuckled," Zark, Arthur. It's just a dressing gown. A tattered, dirty, worn dressing gown at that."

"Excuse me! A…just a!" Arthur sputtered and glared at Ford. "Just a dressing gown?" The furious looking earthman spun on his heel and stomped away.

After the retelling of this event, Trillian rolled her eyes and gave Ford a "duh" look. "It's simple, Ford. Arthur's been wearing that dressing gown since the earth was destroyed, right?" At For's nod, she twiddled her nail file between her fingers and continued, "So, it would be safe to assume that Arthur is attached to it, that Arthur views it as part of himself. Therefore, by calling the dressing gown tattered, dirty, and worn, you were also calling Arthur tattered, dirty, and worn."

The Betelgeusian's face pinched in thought, "But that doesn't make any sense, you'd have to be totally insecure to think…why would I…Oh Belgium!" Ford leapt from his seat at the bar and began hurrying through the Heart of Gold, muttering to himself. "And we were so close to…"

He found Arthur curled up on a sofa that had randomly appeared a few days previous, with his dressing gown tucked tightly beneath his chin.

"Err…Hey Arthur." Ford shifted nervously and sat on the floor, fiddling with his towel. The earthman closed his eyes and was apparently going to ignore him.

"Listen Arthur, I know what you thought I meant, but I really didn't mean it the way you think." Nothing.

Ford tried again, "Zarquon, Arthur. It is just a dressing gown!" The earthman turned his face into the couch and mumbled something.

"But it's not all you have left, Arthur!" Ford cried. When Arthur sifted to just a bit to look at him questioningly with one eye, he leaned forward to kiss the earthman's cheek the way he'd seen done on earth and added softly," You still have me."

At Arthur's encouraging blush, Ford grinned widely and crawled onto the couch.


	6. Good Old Fashion Fever

**Prompt:** 062. Spring  
**Word Count:** 171

* * *

The plant life makes Ford's head feel hazy and heavy in a way that makes him want to drink and not much more. Arthur gets depressed by the fact that even in the season of love he can't get a girlfriend, so except for work he stays home and drinks tea. It's anonymously decided that they'll be pathetic together.

Arthur will stand by the kitchen window, stirring his tea. "It will make you feel better," he'll say, but Ford hates tea in the spring and he'll just grunt a one-word request for coffee. "At this time of day?" Arthur will ask, but he'll make the coffee anyway, strong, black, and in the exact same cup Ford has used for the last four springs.

This is their first spring here, away from the city, and it's worse. Everything's worse. Ford is close to just getting up and leaving, but then Arthur plops that bright cheery mug of just right coffee in front of him and he can't bring himself to get up.


	7. All the Stars

**Prompt:** 030. Death  
**Word Count: **307  
A/N: I lost a page, but it was difficult to replace so I just left it out.

* * *

Arthur died.

To Ford, the hows and whys don't t matter. Only the who and when. All that registered to him was Arthur and then **four hours ago** – **yesterday** – **last week** – **too soon** – **before me**.

It's so strange, so wrong, so completely ridiculous that he wants to laugh. But his throat is tight and his chest is aching and all he can do is cry quietly into his towel.

There'd been those five out of fifteen years where Arthur had been his friend, his companion, his everything and then those months or maybe years when worlds were turned upside-down and destroyed that he'd been Arthur's everything, and all that time flashed behind his eyelids in constant haunting.

He feels pathetic. Everything hurts, everything aches, and he's alone now because he couldn't possibly stand another minute around the blaring reminders that are Trillian and Zaphod. Betelgeusians aren't supposed to have broken hearts, and he thinks it might be the death of him.

Where to go, what to do…Ford doesn't feel like hitchhiking anymore. Doesn't feel like doing much of anything, really. He just feels lost.

And then one day, as he stumbles through some boring, dreary, stupid planet, he has an idea. An awful, terrible, tragic, heartbreaking idea.

_And he's thinking, as he sits in that familiar bar, that the universe must must must have something more for him._

_He's thinking this as he sits in the corner of that familiar bar, drinking that familiar tasting beer, seeing those familiar faces. He's thinking this as he watches Arthur, familiar Arthur. He's thinking this as he watches Arthur, and himself, sit at that familiar counter in that familiar bar._

_He's watching himself lean toward Arthur, whispering as they share some secret or gossip or opinion and he thinks that the universe can't possibly have anything for him better than this._


	8. A Stupid Blue Green Planet

**Prompt:** 054. Earth  
**Word Count:** 211

* * *

Of all the many things in the universe that had good reason to be disliked, Ford Prefect liked to think that the earth had the best. He liked to think this because it made his own intense distaste for the planet seem not so strange.

The thought of Earth, in all its 75 percent water glory, was a thought that Ford held in a deep, dark dungeon in the deepest, darkest corner of his conscience. The towering cities, the rolling plains, the trivial machines and technology, the ignorant people. Ford's stomach churned with every mention.

And it wasn't just because the dull planet had been his prison for 15 years.

It was the longing, the want, the pure single mindedness that Arthur Dent held toward the planet. "Anything!" Ford had once proclaimed," Anything in the universe!" He was a hitchhiker, he'd finally gotten paid. He could be suave, smooth, get them on a first class cruiser around the great star storm of Bagla Bugle, get them a room at the oh-so-classy Quinty Imperial government hotel, hell, he'd even found out where to get something that was almost like tea.

"I'd like to go home," Arthur would sigh.

But the anything that Ford could offer Arthur did not include the Earth.


	9. Me? You? When?

**Prompt:** 023. Lovers  
**Word Count:** 262

* * *

As they sat down at some strange restaurant that Ford had insisted they visit, Arthur was startled. Startled partly by the whale/starfish looking gentleman that had just passed by and startled mostly by the fact that the strange night had suddenly become a lot stranger when Ford pulled his chair out for him.

"Oh! Thank you." Arthur said. Somewhere in the far back of his brain, an alarm started ringing. It rang just a bit louder when Arthur took in the pink and green sparkly décor of their table. Which, he noted, was sonly seen on a few of the middle tables. Then Ford said "Allow me!" when the waiter came and proceeded to order for Arthur, and the alarm gave up.

Ford gave Arthur a quick smile right before their drinks came. Arthur smiled back slowly and tried to make his way through that confusion that always seemed to follow him. He stared down at the bright pink drink and when he glanced up he caught sight of two more people at a special décor table doing what was most likely the act of kissing for their particular species.

"Oh." Arthur said. He blinked.

"Ford?" Arthur asked, realization hitting. "Why didn't you tell me we were together?"

Ford peered at him for a second over the rim of a mug of something bubbly, smoking, green, and dreadfully alcoholic before grinning widely," It's always important to have a bit of mystery in a relationship, Arthur. We wouldn't want things to get boring now, would we?"

"Oh no," Arthur replied faintly, "I suppose not."


	10. In Sickness

Prompt: 021. Friends   
Word Count: 575  
A/N: I hope it doesn't bother anyone, but the chapters are titled the same way they are on lj, instead of by prompt.

* * *

Ford Prefect hasn't had a drink in days.

He's annoyed, irritated, and snappy. People have begun walking on the opposite side of the hall, avoiding him. Ford has always wanted to go home, but he's only just realized that he'd like to take Arthur with him.

Ford Prefect is a hitchhiker. A smooth, suave, sophisticated being who could travel the universe for less than 30 Alterian dollars a day if he could only get off this damn planet. He's never supposed to be anxious, or worried, or so homesick that he feels physically ill. He's a loner who plays, parties, and leaves; no ties or attachments. He's not supposed to be so close to someone that the thought of losing them makes his head hurt and his stomach roll.

Ford Prefect is never ever supposed to spend his days skulking in some lousy medical facility while his best-friend is hospitalized by some stupid illness that could be cleared up in a second if they could just **get off this damn planet**.

'M..Mr. Prefect?" a young nurse nervously approached him. "Mr. Dent is awake now, if…if you'd like to see him."

"Like to see him?" Ford echoed, already pushing past the little brunette. He rounded a corner a little too sharply and scowled at the surprised doctor he'd nearly smacked into. "It's no wonder so many people die here," he called, already halfway down the hallway, " seeing as how you don't have anything remotely close to a sub-etha-insta-med!"

When he reached the last room in the hall, the one with the little chart next to the door that said 'Dent, Arthur" in tiny black letters, he suddenly felt drained. Ford's hand rested on the doorknob for a moment. He was tired, hungry, and painfully sober. Arthur was awake, which meant he was okay, so Ford could just go home right now, grab a bag of crisps, get drunk, and finally watch Casablanca all the way through. That was what being around humans for too long did to you, especially if you liked them. Made you indecisive and unsure.

With a tiny huff of annoyance, Ford yanked open the door, stepped into the room, and was almost swept away by a surprisingly big wave of relief. Arthur smiled at him.

"Ford! Wow, it's really you. I thought for sure the nurse had made a mistake and there was a different "Mr. Prefect" waiting to see a different "Mr. Dent"."

Ford had to think his friend's statement over as he crossed the room to stand next to the bed. "You didn't think I'd come?"

Arthur's smile faltered when he noticed that _Ford_ wasn't smiling. "Um…well..."

Picking some imaginary lint from his coat, Ford glared in the general direction of the wall. "You said it'd only take a day and then you'd be able to go home."

"Well, complications can happen. I just had a little allergic reaction, Ford. I'm fine."

"But you might not have been!" Ford felt as surprised at his own vehemence as Arthur looked. He sighed," Just don't do it again."

"I can't do it again. I only have one appendix, and last I heard they don't grow back." The human joked lightly.

_Really._ Ford made a mental note to add that to his research and gave a tight, relief filled smile," Good."

"Sooo…" Arthur fidgeted.

"Sooo…." Ford repeated, smiling a bit more easily," How long will it be until you can get drunk?"


	11. Keep Me

Prompt: 078. Where?  
Word Count: 343

* * *

Arthur's world has just been destroyed.

Well, not really. His actual 'world' had been destroyed quite some time before. Now, in a similar fashion, all the comfort and stability he had managed to gather around himself had once again been ripped away.

"It's almost exactly like earth," Trillian was saying. "Besides a few minor differences, I think you'll really like it there. What do you think, Arthur?"

"_They want to get rid of me_." Arthur thought. The voice inside his head sounded peculiarly like Marvin. "_They want to drop me off on some strange planet and be rid of me._"

"It sounds…nice." he managed. But it really didn't. It sounded ghastly, horrible, and terribly lonely.

Arthur shuffled through the Heart of Gold, feeling more depressed with every step. It wasn't that he liked living in a fugitive's spaceship, constantly in danger and never getting a good cup of tea, but it was comfortable. Comforting to know that in the morning he could get up and have a cup of not-tea, exchange insults with Zaphod, mope around the deck until Trillian threw him out, then read some of the guide until Ford cam around and they either got drunk or something entirely improbable happened.

He was a creature of habit and he didn't want to leave.

Ford sauntered around a corner, looking cool and laid-back as ever. "Hello Arthur." he said smoothly, as if the earthman wasn't looking like he was almost, but not quite, close to tears.

"Hello Ford." Arthur sighed.

"Heard about that planet yet?" Ford asked,"Getting ready to leave?" He reached out and patted Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times without making a sound. Finally, he lowered his head and whined, "But I don't want to go."

He felt like a child, but he really, really wanted to stay. When he looked up, Ford had strange, relieved expression on his face.

The Betelgeusian grinned," Good. Because if you went, I'd have to go too, and it sounds like a really ghastly place to live."


	12. Tea Time

Prompt: 060. Drink   
Word Count: 474  
A/N: I usually wait longer before posting here, but I since I got such nice reviews I thought I'd do it quicker. Still mostly wind up on livejournal first though.

* * *

Zaphod was highly perplexed. About as perplexed as he could be without really caring. 

"Why'd you go through so much trouble to get a lousy drink for that stupid earthman?"

Ford's fingers danced across the assortment of teas he'd purchased and plucked up a bag before he turned, grinning widely at Zaphod, "You'll see."

And so Zaphod was kind of, maybe, just a little bit interested in what was going on: but only because there was absolutely nothing else to do. He watched with one set of eyes as his semi-cousin dunked the bag of dry plants into a mug of hot water and both his noses wrinkled in distaste at the smell. Ford stepped out of the kitchen, steaming tea in hand and motioned for Zaphod to follow him. The ex-galactic president did, but only because his feet were going raving mad from boredom. They wound up on the main deck where, of course, Arthur was sitting at the bar looking pathetic.

A groan bubbled in one of Zaphod's throats, or maybe both. The earthman was just so..so…earthy. And boring and plain and monkeylike. Zaphod's coolness meter dropped a good few thousand points when they were in the same room.

It was absolutely ridiculous the way Ford smiled when he was with his friend. It was like his face was trying to split away from itself, which was definitely not on the Betelgeusian list of cool expressions. "Hello Arthur!" the ginger haired journalist bounded over," I've brought you some tea!" And Zaphod rolled all his eyes at the way the ape-descendent suddenly perked up and turned all bright eyed. Then he was drinking the boiled grass like it was a liquefied god.

Zaphod sneered at Arthur's smile, which was almost matching Ford's, but not quite. (because humans aren't as stretchy as Betelgeusians, you know.) Ford's gaze shifted from Arthur to Zaphod for just a moment and the smile became a smirk. A smooth, suave, oh-so-sexy smirk that just screamed 'I'm about to make you jealous.' Zaphod raised his eyebrows.

There was the light clink of the mug on the bar and before Zaphod could say anything, Ford was flat on his back with an armful of earthman. "Holy Zarquon!" exclaimed the left head, and his right head just gaped.

True to Zaphod's jabs at the human, Arthur really does sound like an animal. A low rumble was emanating from him and above that was the keening sound that Zaphod and every other Betelgeusian male makes when they're really, really, really happy. It's coming from Ford, of course, and in a blur of argyle and checkered print, the guide writer shoved Arthur over and pinned him down.

Ford's panting, face twisted by a completely self-satisfied smirk. Still beneath him, Arthur sighed in his peculiar earthman way, "Next time, add cream."

And Zaphod was suddenly very thirsty.


	13. Watching You

Prompt: 064. Fall   
Word Count: 359

* * *

Some of the leaves had stuck to Arthur's hair, tangled in the brown strands. Ford didn't tell him, of course, because he liked the way it looked. Something about it made the proper and polite Englishman seem so delicious.

"Are you hungry?" Arthur asked as he caught site of Ford licking his lips. He no longer acknowledged the almost lewd grins Fords seemed to throw in his direction. "We could go grab a bite to eat."

"Your treat?"

"Of course. I owe you for helping me."

Dinner being Arthur's treat would, as always, mean that Ford would stuff himself inhumanly full and leave Arthur with yet another incredibly large bill. But Arthur had a job and he sometimes worried about his unemployed friend who always had money for booze but could never seem to scrounge up the change for a decent meal. "You're like a Dentelesian mother from Zarkibuu 7 who's caring for her batch of Dentelbuu cubs!" Ford had once told Arthur, and he meant it. That was one of the things Ford liked best about his friend, really. No matter how painfully polite, boring, dull, or human Arthur Dent was, he always managed to remind Ford that the rest of universe was, in fact, still out there.

Another thing Ford really liked about Arthur was the way his face looked when he was annoyed. His eyes widened just a bit and the area around his nose scrunched up a bit and his cheeks looked just a bit pinker. Ford especially liked to see it when he had the knowledge that he was the cause of that annoyance.

Ford reached out to pluck a leaf off Arthur. Arthur made his "_I'm a little annoyed, but not really at anything particularly bothering_" face which was a good face, but not quite as good as his "_I'm annoyed because my best friend is Ford Prefect_" face. and reached up to shake the leaves out with his fingers. It left his hair sticking up, messy and gave him a _ready to be debauched_ look.

Catching a look at Ford's expression, Arthur laughed," All right, all right. Let's go out, you look like you're starving."


	14. To the Rescue!

Prompt: 035. Sixth Sense   
Word Count: 115  
A/N: If you have a livejournal account, I'd really recommend reading this and other short ones there. Small things don't look good on here.

* * *

"Oh thank God," Arthur groaned when he caught sight of Ford climbing out of the air vents. He sighed in appreciation when the journalist began untying the ropes around his wrists.  
"How did you know I was here?" 

Ford grinned a bit too widely. "I have sixth sense for things like this."

Rubbing his sore wrists wearily, Arthur eyed him. It was difficult to tell if he was being truthful about things like that. He wasn't human, after all. "What, you get a tingling sensation every time a friend gets captured by strange slimy creatures?"

Ford just continued grinning. Actually, he only got a tingling sensation if the person was much more than a friend.


	15. Prefect Vs the Universe

Prompt: 042. Why?  
Word Count: 122

* * *

The universe was black. Dark and endless, empty. Staring into this abyss wasn't quite as poetic as he would have imagined. In fact, if he were being blunt, Arthur Dent would say that the universe seemed quite boring when you weren't trying to save it.

"Having fun, Arthur?"

The earthman sighed," Not really."

Ford leaned against the railing next to Arthur, watching the Englishman as he watched space. "I think you'll like it," he finally said, "if you just give it a chance."

Arthur signed again, long and deep. "Why is that?"

"Well," Ford flashed a wide smile, "You like me, don't you?

"You and the universe are not the same, Ford."

"Of course not. The universe can't do this." And they kissed.


	16. Ice and Fruit

Prompt: 061. Winter   
Word Count: 218

* * *

Ford likes Arthur best during the winter. Ford likes Arthur all the time, really, but his favorite Arthur is only awake during the winter. Probably because Arthur was always a bit more affectionate when he was cold and something about freezing hands and snow covered jackets always made him a bit more sympathetic toward drunk friends.

Here in the country there were no snowball throwing children, no dad on the front steps shoveling. Therefore, nobody was around to send them strange looks if Ford got just a bit closer to Arthur with each step.

"You know," Ford draws out, swinging his arms so they brush Arthur every so often," it doesn't snow where I come from."

"It doesn't snow in Guildford?" Arthur asked. That doesn't sound quite right, but Arthur's never actually been to Guildford so he's not going to argue. Ford just brushes some snow from his friend's shoulder and smiles. "But I know this one place where it snows red. Kind of like blood, I suppose. So it might make you queasy."

"What?" Arthur laughed. He let Ford lean companionably onto him. "Did you have a few extra drinks while I was in the restroom?"

Ford stuck his tongue out to catch a few flakes." And it tastes like cherry. One day, I'll take you there."


	17. Voila

Prompt: 081. How?  
Word Count: 343

* * *

_Now, despite the story Ford liked to tell people, Arthur and Ford did not meet at a sexy London bar, they did not play pin-the-tail-on-the-stripper, and Arthur did not dance around in something silky.  
Actually, they met in a bookstore. A quaint little east London bookstore located between a flower shop and a woman's clothes boutique. The meeting went a little something like this:_

Arthur was enjoying his day off. He's just left a lovely little café after having a nice lunch and cup of tea and he was looking for something to read while he lounged around the house.

Ford was not having such a great time. He'd woken up somewhere very awkward, even for him, and was looking for a new hangover cure since the milk and egg mix had not helped.

They collided in the used sci-fi section. Ford was flailing and groaning and Arthur was flat on his back with a book spread on his face. Arthur tasted the character's angst and pushed himself up. "I'm so so sorry. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going! Are you alright?"

Ford eyed the human groggily. "Do you know where the hangover cure recipes are?"

"Err…I'm not sure…do they have books for that?" Arthur thought about the different sections in the bookstore. That'd be a cookbook, wouldn't it? Or maybe lifestyle. "Well, cheese toast and milk tea always work good for me."

Arthur fidgeted. The ginger haired man was staring at him intently. Arthur blinked several times. Ford stared.

It all seemed very strange to Arthur. He wasn't quite sure what to do. Then, a slow, toothy smile broke out across Ford's face and Arthur had to suppress the urge to cover his neck.

"Make me some."

Arthur didn't say anything. It seemed like the right thing to do.

"Make me some and I'll keep you from buying this rubbish." Ford said, plucking the book from Arthur's hands.

_And that's what happened. The whole "sexy bar-stripper game-dancing Arthur" ordeal didn't take place for several more months._


	18. Shoes and All

Prompt: 090. Home   
Word Count: 421

* * *

When Arthur wakes up at about midnight to Ford climbing through the bedroom window, second story, he doesn't find it all that odd. They've been friends for about seven years, gotten completely off-their-arse drunk more times than they could count, and had grand adventures saving the universe together. These days it takes more than strange behavior like _that_ to really surprise Arthur.

Of course, he can't stop himself from sitting up and demanding answers. It's a habit he's really been trying to break, since he'd discovered answers are usually more trouble than they're worth.

"Ford! What are you doing?"

Said Betelgeusian flopped down next to the human and told him, a bit like a scolding mother, "You locked everything downstairs, Arthur. Even the front door."

Of course Arthur locked the front door. The universe was a dangerous place and Arthur tried to dissuade any of that danger from getting into his house. Actually, he'd prefer for it to stay out of his yard as well, but if the spontaneous Crookian rhinos who'd fought each other to death in his garden just last week were anything to judge from, that was a bit much to ask for.

"I gave you a key." Arthur reminded Ford. His friend just smiled lazily, arms tucked behind his head.

"I lost it."

Which also didn't surprise Arthur. But the lack of surprise had little to do with his experiences in the universe and a lot to do with his experiences around Ford. So Arthur just sighed, settled back down against his pillow, and tried to sleep. Sometimes things like that worked, usually they didn't.

Ford grinned, mostly to himself. "This is a lot like your house in Cottington. Except it's taller and there's no conveniently placed tree for me to climb up."

Arthur turned his face and grumbled into his pillow.

"And..." Ford continued," There's no guest bedroom."

Cracking an eye open just a bit, Arthur told Ford," The house in Cottington didn't have a guest bedroom."

"But you had a nice couch."

Arthur thought, with his sleepy, human mind, about the new furniture in his new house. He thought about the ugly, stone-like couch sitting in his living room. "The couch I have now isn't very nice."

He could see Ford's teeth glint in the light from the window.

"Exactly."

Ford wiggled around a bit. Then he did it a bit more. Then a bit more. Arthur rolled his eyes, "Oh _all right._" and pulled the covers up just enough for Ford to slide under.


	19. Pyromania

Prompt: 052. Fire   
Word Count: 248

* * *

It starts with a touch.

Arthur is stretching and his shirt is moving up higher, higher, higher and when he puts his arms down, the shirt is still up. Ford's a nice guy, who likes to help out his friends.

So Ford reaches out to smooth down that crumpled fabric, and his palm brushes over the pale skin of lower back.

It's a spark, a flash, a bolt of lightning that shakes them both to the bone.

Ford presses his hand flat; half on fabric, half set on a patch of skin. A tremble goes down Arthur's spine and Ford feels it to his toes.

"Ah…F…Ford…"

Ford's going in reverse, pushing the shirt back up, up, up and revealing more skin. He lays the heel of his hand on the small of Arthur's back, a perfect fit, and splays his fingers as wide as they'll go. Touching as much as he can.

Arthur's head is caught in a rush. He's being deafened by the pounding of his own heartbeat. There's already so much, _too much_, and then there's more. Electric fingertips dancing up his arms, over his shirt, resting on his neck.

They need to be near, closer, and suddenly they're crowding each other, white heat dissolving the rest of the world. Ford's fingers are curling, pushing, pulling, ripping the breath right out of Arthur with every little movement. Everything is _aching_ and Ford presses his lips to Arthur's. Tongues sliding, teeth nipping, eyes closing, hearts on fire.


	20. Action and Consequence

Prompt: 082. If.  
Word Count: 186

* * *

Arthur was licking the rim of his teacup.

His eyelashes were lowered, his cheeks were delicately flushed with delight, and his little pink tongue was darting past wet lips to swipe every last bit of flavor from the porcelain dish.

"A-Arthur…"Ford managed to spit out. He cleared his throat. "Arthur."

The mousy haired human lifted his gaze to Ford's questioningly, making one last swipe at the cup before moving it away. "Yes Ford?" He licked his lips.

Ford clenched the little green tea towel from the table so tightly his knuckles went white. "You have to stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

He gave Arthur a hard stare, "Stop licking things."

This seemed to catch the earthman's attention. He eyed his teacup with amusement," Well, I'm sorry Ford, but it's been a while since I've had tea. Is it bothering you?"

"If you continue doing it I'm going to pounce on you, hold you to the floor, and ravish you in ways you can't possibly imagine." the Betelgeusian stated seriously and as calmly as he could.

Arthur lifted his teacup and gave it a long, drawn-out lick.


	21. A Human Touch

Prompt: 044. Circle  
Word Count: 382

* * *

Ford absolutely loves hugs. Not just any hugs though, hugs with Arthur.  
It's not an unheard of gesture in the universe, but Ford's never been to a place where it's as common as it is on Earth. The humans give a whole new purpose to the action. It's not a sort of foreplay, not their actual act of mating, not a way of proposing or insulting, not even their species' equivalent to a greeting. It's an expression of feelings. Sympathy, condolences, happiness, love, affection.

Humans hardly ever mean what they say and almost never say what they mean, but their hugs never lie. So when Arthur complains and complains and complains about every bad habit Ford has and even a few he hasn't developed yet, Ford just pulls his little earth friend into a hug. Maybe Arthur is using one hand to push half-heartedly against the larger man's chest, but his other hand rests comfortably on Ford's coat and that says more than a million words to Ford.

When Earth is destroyed, Ford makes a sort of oath to continue the custom. It doesn't work well with everyone; Zaphod, for instance, complains because it makes it hard to drink, and Trillian just isn't really touchy-feely enough for good hugs. That's all fine and dandy though, because the only person Ford really wants to hug is Arthur, and the earthman usually lets him satisfy his physical addiction with only minimal protest.

Ford likes the closeness of it, really. The little bit of intimacy in a hug is a lot different from the kind of intimacy kisses and licks and fondling have. (not that Ford doesn't like kisses and licks and fondling, because he most certainly does). He likes the contact, the fitting like a puzzle. He likes to encircle his friend and feel the worn cotton against his hands, the solid warmth against his chest. Sometimes, in the best times, he gets the feel of a soft cheek against his collar and coarse hair ticking under his chin. Ford can't remember appreciating little, simple things before hugs.

Arthur's voice is drifting down the hallways, cursing the Nutrimatic or the temp. control or maybe the door that closed on his dressing gown again, and Ford grins. It sounds like his friend needs a hug.


	22. Let Me Tell You

Prompt: 088. And.  
Word Count: 274

* * *

Ford Prefect was a man of many, many, many words. They might not all mean much, but there's enough to fill at least a fourth of the Guide's microprocessors if he bothered to write it all down. But for some reason, he couldn't figure out how to say "I love you" to Arthur Dent.

Because "I love you" is a relatively easy phrase, but it's to be spoken with meaning and feeling and, as Trillian's told him, followed by action. Action like what? Sex? Marriage? Would Arthur require an explanation? Expecting the first one might just be getting his hopes up, but he wasn't sure he was prepared for the other two.

If Arthur ever caught sight of Ford's many open and close mouth moments of uncertainly, he was polite enough to not say anything. He even overlooked the almost constant tension that Ford enveloped himself in when they were together. Or maybe he didn't notice, which was equally reasonable.

"Look Arthur!" Ford finally managed out one day, interrupting Arthur's rambling musings on the topic of orange wallpaper. He slammed his fist on the table to make sure Arthur's startled attention was indeed focused on him.

The "I love you" that rushed from his lips was a declaration that stilled him. Arthur's eyes were wide, his mouth a little i O /i of surprise

Ford grimaced. Now what? He hadn't planned any further, despite all his waiting, he wasn't ready, and Arthur was waiting.

Arthur was…

Arthur was kissing him. Softly, shyly. Ford could feel the curve of a small smile pressed against his lips.

Oh. A kiss. That made sense, now that he thought about it.


	23. More

Prompt:034. Not Enough   
Word Count: 274

* * *

They were somewhere between "where we should be", "where we could be", and "where we used to be".

It was a terrible kind of awkwardness, something that they'd never encountered in their seven-some years of being friends. Ford, grimacing down shot after shot of burning alcohol, wished more than anything that he'd kept his damn mouth shut.

Oh yeah, he'd been real froody during the whole confession. And so confident, as if he'd really thought that…

Friends. That's what Ford just knew Arthur was going to say when he came back with an answer. _We can still be friends. _That's what made everything taste like ash. If being friends was okay, he'd never have said anything in the first place. There was just so much that he wanted, so much that he couldn't stop thinking about. So much that he couldn't have.

Ford drowned another burning, painful mouthful and when Arthur sat beside him, he could feel that "I'm sorry" without even looking up. He clenched his jaw and kept his eyes down.

Arthur's hand is light against his arm, but it felt like the fire of a thousand broken hearts. "Ford." Arthur was coaxing him. "Ford."

Ford would much rather spend the rest of forever staring into his glass, but he'd always been a sucker for that particular pitch of whine in the human's voice.

Arthur was still just Arthur, even in the smoke and hazy lighting of the bar.

"I think I'd like it." Arthur's lips curled after the words and Ford thought of a hundred cool England afternoons, a hundred warm nights on a warm couch. "I think I like you."


	24. Sleepy Time

Prompt: 037. Sound   
Word Count: 281

* * *

Nights on Earth were quiet.

Ford could appreciate that. It didn't have the lulling coos of soritian plum birds to help him drift off, or the soft lullaby of critian sirens to pull him into sleep, or even the pollen of drowse-inducing tilman flowers, but there was a certain kind of quiet on Earth that Ford found it increasingly easy to sleep in.

It was hard to like Earth, but Ford, cozy and warm and this close to dozing off on Arthur's old, worn, incredibly comfortable couch, could admit that he'd become quite fond of the nights.

From the kitchen was soft tinkering, the low shrill of Arthur's teapot and the shuffling through cabinets, and Ford lazily tried to guess what tea Arthur had choose to make by the light scent in the air. Chamomile, maybe.

"Still awake Ford?" Of course, Ford didn't like tea all that much and he preferred not to sleep with the taste in his mouth, but Arthur never failed to set an extra cup next to his own.

"Mmmm…" The couch was old, the fabric a little coarse and the smell slightly musty, but it's so much better than the stiff, unused thing in Ford's place that he'd never had the heart to complain. It felt good to stretch out, sinking between the cushions and the couch's back just a bit.

Arthur chuckled, the sound a little breathless after such a long day. Right now he'll sip tea in his armchair like the creature of habit that he is, and when Ford wakes up with a blanket tucked neatly around him, he'll be too annoyed by the morning racket of Arthur's kitchen to appreciate the gesture.


	25. Saviors and Horrors

Prompt: 014. Green  
Word Count: 614  
A/N: A bit longer than usual, to make up for slow updates.

* * *

The bulldozer sprouted great, giant green tentacles. Arthur shuddered in terror, unable to run even as the beast-machine started towards him.

Behind him were the remains of his house, his beautiful house, and for miles behind that was nothing but similar destruction. Homes, ruined. The Horse and Groom, ruined. Cottington, ruined. From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see two miniature bulldozers, pink, pulling a "make way for bypasses" banner.

The giant bulldozer crunched over rubble, a tentacle flinging out to send a tree, maybe the last tree, flying into the distance. Another swept out suddenly, grabbing Arthur by the feet, and he screamed in fright.

"Arthur. Arthur!"

Upside-down, screaming, dressing gown flapping awkwardly in his face, Arthur could barely make out the argyle-clad figure running to him.

"Ford!" Arthur gasped, and another tentacle wound around his chest, squeezing and crushing. "Help me!"

"Arthur!"

His bones were crunching; the pain numbing all his feeling, and Arthur couldn't even breathe. He wanted to reach out, because Ford was almost there, but gravity was pulling his limbs from him, ripping his very skin and—

"Arthur, wake up!"

Arthur did wake up, to a stinging pain in his face and the sounds of his own panicked breathing. His chest still burnt, felt like it was on fire, like maybe it was being crushed, and Arthur struggled to get up, arms scrambling to get out from under the blankets.

"Arthur! Arthur, calm down." Ford pulled the covers back, holding Arthur's shoulder with one hand. "Are you alright?"

"Ford." Arthur breathed, and he'd never been so relieved in his life. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and felt exhausted.

Ford, however, didn't look like he'd be sleeping anytime soon. He still gripped Arthur's should and his eyes were wide, unblinking, staring intently at Arthur. "You were screaming bloody murder."

"Did I wake you?" was a stupid question, but all the willpower in the universe couldn't have stopped Arthur from asking. He rubbed his chest tiredly," Sorry."

"Well _what happened_?"

"Just a nightmare, Ford." Arthur sighed. He laid back, grimacing at the feel of his matted hair on the sweat damp pillow.

Ford gave him a disgruntled look, his own hair stuck into the air at every which direction and the sheet from his own bunk stuck to his pants. "Just a nightmare?" he repeated, sounding a bit mocking. "You were screaming, for me, and I couldn't get you to wake up."

He blinked once, then twice, and Arthur reached out to pat his leg reassuringly. "I know, thank you. You were coming to save me."

Ford looked interested at that, so Arthur continued. "I…this thing was hurting me." It was all fuzzy to Arthur now, but he could remember the fear, and Ford. "It was killing me, but you were coming to save me." Arthur finished, just before a yawn overcame him.

Ford seemed to be contemplating this. "If I hadn't woken you up, would I-the dream me, that is, have saved you?"

Arthur blinked sleepily. "I don't know"

Ford looked a bit miffed. "What do you mean you don't know? Of course I would have saved you." He ignored Arthur's slightly confused look and made himself comfortable next to the earthman. "Just think about it, Arthur. I always save you, right?"

"Umm..Yes."

"Right. So from now on, get your dreams correct and remember that. I can't have your dreams giving me a bad reputation."

Arthur smiled and yawned again. "Sorry Ford. I won't let it happen again."

"Good!" Ford wiggled around, elbowing Arthur a few times before settling down. "Now shut your mouth and go to sleep, would you? I'm trying to get some shut eye."


	26. A Little Less Dance

Prompt: 049. Club   
Word Count: 1482  
A/N: Watching too much _Heroes_ is dangerous. I think I fried something in my brain. I'm a total Mylar fan, if you know what I mean!

* * *

It shouldn't take an astrophysicist to figure it out.

For some reason though, Trillian seemed to be the only one who could see how completely, ridiculously in love Ford and Arthur are. They're so head over heels in love that if the Magrathean's accepted affection as a form of currency they'd be able to buy a whole galaxy of planets and then some.

But neither of them seemed to realize it. They acted as if it's perfectly normal for best-friends to share sleeping quarters despite an abundance of rooms. They acted like two male friends curling up together on the sofa was the most expected thing for them to do. The fact that the only things they argued about were the same kind of things old married couples squabbled over went completely over their heads. They were already great together and Trillian knew that if they took just one more step they'd be perfect.

Unfortunately, not everyone has the observation skills of Trillian . They'd once again docked on some random planet and, once again, everyone would go out to have a good time except Arthur. Ford would get drunk and dance with girls, Arthur would stay on the ship and mope. This, Trillian had decided, was a big crimp in the way things should be.

"Arthur." She told him sharply," Arthur, dressed. You're going out."

Arthur blinked at her with a sort of owlish looking surprise. "But, I'm not--"

"Yes, you are." Trillian interrupted him. "Now go change into some real clothes and hurry, because we'll be there soon." She smiled when Arthur stumbled away in a daze to do as she said.

The earth women was waiting by the exit when Ford and Zaphod turned into the hallway, engaged in a heated argument that Trillian was certain she had no interest in. It had only ever come to blows between them once before (during a fierce argument about the best tie color, no less), but it'd been…very nasty, so Trillian intervened. "You two can go on ahead, I'm going to wait for Arthur."

This side-tracked them easily. "The monkey's going out?" Zaphod laughed. Ford opened his mouth to speak , but caught sight of something and snapped it shut. Trillian turned to see Arthur shuffling toward them. She resisted the urge to make the same surprised sound as Zaphod.

She'd only seen Arthur in anything other than disheveled hair and his dressing gown once, at that party, and he'd looked ridiculous. But this Arthur-in those nice new clothes and relatively neater hair was…rather handsome, if you went for the kind who were perpetually dazed and mostly dull.

Ford moved between them and Arthur, effectively cutting off whatever smart remark Zaphod was about to make. "Hey Arthur, you're actually coming out? Great!"

"Yeah, great." Zaphod repeated, his tone dry. Trillian swatted at his closest head and ushered them all into the transporter.

Since it was a work-night, the bar wasn't overflowing. It was still packed, but apparently enough people had the sense to get a good sleep once in a while that there was actually breathing space every few yards. "Shame for them," Zaphod quipped, and hurried off to the bar.

Ford, for once, wasn't right on his tail. He hung back by the door, where Arthur was fidgeting nervously. Trillian took pride in the fact that the earthman's new clothes were getting appreciative looks from Ford, as well as some other bar-goers. After all, she'd been thinking of sensibility rather than eye-catching when she'd picked them out.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Arthur was saying. "The last party I went to didn't go so well and-"

"But this isn't a party, Arthur." Trillian cut in before Ford could, earning her a half-affronted look from the Betelgeusian ,which she completely ignored. 'It's just a bar, so relax and have some fun."

Then she straightened out and smiled at Ford, teeth gleaming," You can run along, Ford. I'll get Arthur settled in. Didn't you have some bet with Zaphod?…"

Well no, actually, he didn't. But there was always a chance that he just didn't remember (a big chance, really, since it was easy not to listen when Zaphod spoke.) and losing to his semi-cousin wasn't the kind of losing Ford was interested in. He looked between the bar and Arthur, gave Trillian a faintly suspicious glance ,and gave in. "Uh, yeah. Have fun, Arthur." and he disappeared into the crowd.

Trillian redirected her too-wide smile at Arthur, who just looked a bit lost. She directed his attention to a table at the other end of the room. A few humanoids were lounging near some railing by it, occasionally looking over to watch the two earthlings. "There's a free seat, Arthur. Let's sit for a bit?"

Arthur seemed to like the idea. A lot. He nodded eagerly and Trillian almost felt bad about what she was planning. She continued to smile as she pushed him forward, toward the table. And when he was in front of her, moving on his own, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Throwing him to the sharks was a bit excessive, maybe. But it wasn't as if she wasn't going to keep an eye on him every so often. Just let him flounder about a bit before his polite English charm made him acknowledge someone's advances (and there would be advances, for sure. Some of the people were so drunk they flirted with chairs. And not the sentient kind.) and let him have some fun. And then!

Then her plan took on more of a chancy feel. Maybe she'd been watching too many of those space soap-operas that Eddie was fond of flipping too. Ford would get jealous, definitely, if he saw. But Ford was with Zaphod ,with alcohol, and that meant he could already be too drunk to really see anything.

Trillian stood on her tip-toes long enough to watch the panicked Arthur flit around the table awkwardly before crossing her fingers and heading to the bar.

It wasn't until a while later that Ford stretched from his seat, cheeks slightly red from the effort of drinking so much of whatever it was that he was drinking. Zaphod was still throwing back shots of something with the determined look of a man who had no fear of hangovers. That was the point in which Trillian knew her plan was going to work. It was like some perfect movie-moment, when the crowd parted just right and Ford looked in just the right direction. Arthur wasn't dancing, more like just swaying, but the other girl/guy-ish looking thing was holding him fairly close.

She couldn't help but smirk triumphantly against her glass each time she spotted Ford shooting looks around his current dance partner in Arthur's direction. Jealous looks. Trillian wasn't sure if she should be impressed or annoyed by his self-control , because Zaphod had taught her the concept that Betelgeusians hated being jealous. It was apparently an attachment that came with the huge genetic ego.

But nonetheless, she was so happy with the way things were working out that she didn't even protest when Zaphod's third arm made some inappropriate moves during the only slow dance of the night. After a few more songs, she caught Ford's arm when he passed by and they both had their eyes on Arthur. "It's great that he's having a good time, isn't it?"

Ford just gave her an appalled look.

It really did look like Arthur was enjoying himself though. Humanoids were always a hit at parties, even ones as consistently lost as Arthur. He'd already danced with several partners, no doubt fulfilling his alien close-encounters limit for the day, and was pulling himself away from a new one to make his way toward them.

"Ford! Trill!" Arthur wiped his brow, smiling at them tiredly, "This was fun."

"I told you you'd like it." Trillian chimed, followed closely by Ford's, "But you're ready to go now, right?"

"Well yes, "Arthur nodded," it's fun, but I'd rather like a cup of tea and a nice sit down before bed." neither of which could be found in this particular bar.

"Oh, well-me and you should head out now, then"  
Arthur glanced at Ford strangely. The ginger haired man rarely left bars before they closed, and that was only after massive amounts of alcohol (which Ford had yet to consume) and extreme coercion. 'Are you feeling alright, Ford?"

Nodding, Ford nudged Arthur with one hand and waved at Trillian with the other," Yes, yes, let's just go-we need to have a chat."

"A chat?" Arthur intoned, allowing himself to be pushed.

Trillian crossed her arms and smirked smugly, satisfied as she watched Ford lead Arthur though the crowd, catching just a bit more of their conversations.

"Yes, a chat about you, me ,and all the people you shouldn't be dancing with..."


	27. Show Off

Prompt: 027. Parents   
Word Count: 448   
A/N: Sorry, mushy.

* * *

Arthur, Ford has decided, is the perfect mate to bring home to his mothers. Zaphod thinks it's a horrible idea. The very speculation of the idea shocks him so much he actually spills some of his drink. But things hadn't gone well the few times Zaphod had taken someone home to appease the moms, so Ford decides his opinion doesn't count.

Besides, Zaphod never had a mate anywhere near as sweet, charming, polite, or perfect as Arthur. The earthman is exactly the kind of person their mothers always hoped they'd bring home, but never actually believed they would.

And Arthur seems to like the idea. Spastic worrying aside, he gives Ford one of those dazed smiles every time it comes up in a conversation. Ford pushed him up against the wall and whispers in his ear how much his mothers will love him, and how impressed they'll be, and how great Arthur is, and when he pulls backs his little earth love I blushing like it's their first time. That blush, in fact, is one of the reasons Ford is sure they'll both be given extra dessert and cheek pinches. It's too cute and innocent and shy to not earn the love of his mothers.

So Ford sends a message across the galaxy saying to expect him and puts some extra emphasis on the words "someone special who I think you'd like to meet". Maybe he's just imagining things, but not long after his ears start to burn.

Ford's not nervous, per say, but he had to sit though several impromptu pep-talks from Trillian before he can decide that, yes, his coat looks fine, and no, he doesn't need a hair cut. Okay, so maybe he's feeling a little anxious, but Arthur's the one who keeps locking himself in the bedroom to sit in a corner and try not to hyperventilate.

"You both look marvelous." Trillian assures them, exasperated; while Zaphod hangs back shaking his heads, looking disappointed.

"Ready to go?" Ford asks. And of course Arthur's not ready, but Ford drags him out before he can say as much, otherwise they'd never leave. "They'll love you Arthur." He promises again and again during the trip to Betelgeuse.

And they do. The mothers absolutely adore Arthur, much to the dismay of the earthman's' cheeks. Everything is perfect, actually, until one of the mother's (the one who Zaphod got his enormous lack of good timing from) asks when they should start expecting grandchildren.

That sets all the mothers off and dooms Ford to having to give a lengthy and no doubt tear-filled lecture to Arthur, but….all-in-all, Ford looks forward to boasting about how well it went to Zaphod.


	28. Father Time

Prompt: 091. Birthday   
Word Count: 435

* * *

Ford Prefect is scared.

The first time he peers into the mirror with bloodshot eyes and acknowledges this, he thinking of Arthur. Sweet, simple Arthur.

It's hard to measure the differences in time across the galaxy, but Ford knows he's significantly older than Arthur. His fingers wonder to his curly, ginger hair that's as vibrant as it's ever been and wonders what he was doing the day Arthur Philip Dent was born onto Earth. Probably drinking or dancing with girls, or both. He likes to toy with the thought that it happened around the same time he started working for the Guide, but that's pointless sentimentality.

The real point exists only in the fact that, judging by their astonishing survival rate against the universes dangers, Arthur will die before Ford. If neither of them is killed; if they don't get blown up, or shot, or catch some deathly space disease ,Ford will have a lot of life to live after Arthur. And the thought puts a pain in the writer's chest.

Not that he wants Arthur to die sooner. No, Zarquon forbid. That would just mean less time. There's not enough time, never enough, but less—and Ford is not giving up more than he has to.

But some days this fact catches up to him, this inevitability throws itself in his face-like today. Today Ford is completely, painfully sober.

"Ford?" Arthur asks from the doorway, rubbing his eyes tiredly with loose fists. Ford doesn't turn but he can see in the mirror every move, every detail, reversed but still real. Messy hair, red cheeks, bleery eyes.

"Good morning Arthur. Do you know what day it is?"

_Sleepyhead_, Ford thinks, more factually than affectionately. He's never completely grasped the idea of human endearments.

"It's my birthday." Ford told the human, trying to sound normal.

Arthur's excitement is tired, but he's wide eyed and smiling and surprised-and Ford doesn't know what the name for the feeling he gets is.

"Oh _Ford_, why didn't you tell me? I didn't even get you present. I-" ,that bumbling, rambling, human speech that Arthur has hurts. It's a little annoying and sometimes exasperating, and Ford can't stop thinking about the day he won't be able to hear it.

"No, no." Ford tells Arthur, interrupting with a sort of pained smile. "I thought maybe..."

The universe is cruel. Harsh, uncaring. Of the few certainties, one of the them is, unfortunately-

"….you and I..."

If Ford spends the rest of _his_ life preparing, it won't make a difference. He'll never be ready to let go.

"…could just spend the day together."


	29. Skirting Deadlines

**Prompt**: 089.Work  
**Word Count:** 397

* * *

"No Ford, "Arthur snapped hotly, eyebrows furrowing in agitation,"I do not feel like putting a skirt on and dancing for you."

"But Aaaarthur!" the Betelgeusian whined. He took the human's hand in his own, giving the most pathetic, heartfelt sigh he could muster. "Really, Arthur. It's for your own good."

Arthur scoffed," My own good? My own good? Please, Ford, please enlighten me as to how putting on a skirt and dancing for you is for my own good. I-I suppose it's the cure for some disease I've got that I don't even know I've gotten! Hmm? Oh-or maybe we've entered some stranger section of the universe where it's considered insulting if you're not wearing a skirt and dancing, right? So I suppose you and Zaphod will be traipsing around like fools as well?!"

Ford watching Arthur rant, an affectionate smile curling his lips.

"Or-or maybe," Arthur panted, face flushed," you just want me to look like a fool!"

"Are you done yet?"

"Yes." Arthur sighed. He added, quickly, "for now!"

"Hold on, Arthur; It is for your own good. See, I usually go to bars and watch the girls dance for writing inspiration."

Arthur scowled.

"But!" Ford continued before Arthur could open his mouth, fingering the cuffs on the earthman's dressing gown. "I promised I wouldn't do that anymore, didn't I? And why would I want to when I've got a sexy earthman right here on the ship to do it for me?"

Arthur blushed at the words, going pink all the way to the tips of his ears. "Ford! I...err..." all the redhead's words seemed to catch up with him, "Oh no! Forget it Ford! Don't think I'm going to do what you want just because you compliment me! No !"

Ford chuckled at the bristling human.

"No no, I'm just pointing out the..uh...facts for you. You know, painting the whole picture. See, I really don't think I can finish anything if I don't see someone in a skirt dancing, and while I would most defiantly, unquestionably prefer to watch you over any other--Well, if you don't do it, I'll just have to go watch some girls, won't I? And I know how much you hate that. All that anger's not good for you ,right?"

Glowering, Arthur yanked away from Ford and stood up, muttering, "Fine. But I get to choose the music."


	30. Gotcha

**Prompt:** 070. Storm

**Word Count: **384

A/N: is causing some serious damage to punctuation, as if I needed any help getting it wrong.

* * *

Arthur screamed.

An awful, terrified scream caused by the fact that the lights had just gone out and something was in his room. Arthur took a deep breath, fully prepared to scream again, and reached around blindly for anything to protect himself with.

The thing was near him and Arthur lost all his air in a squeak, swinging wildly.

"Whoa, whoa! Watch where you swing your towel, Arthur! You could really hurt someone." Ford tugged the towel from Arthur's hand-or, at least, it sounded like Ford. It was awfully hard to see through the room's utter darkness.

"Umm...Ford?" Arthur's fingers snagged something coarse and worn and he sighed in relief. He could almost feel the argyle print. "What happened to the lights?"

Arthur knew Ford was grinning, could almost see his teeth gleaming through the blackness. "I came to warn you, we've gotten stuck in a storm. "

"And this is good?" Arthur ventured.

He was feeling brave enough to let go of the coat, but not brave enough to relax.

"Well, not as such...the powers goes out to limit the chances of us getting struck by space lighting...and.." That and sounded like it was something Arthur wouldn't enjoy. It sounded a lot like the buts that came before unbelievably bad news, and usually right after there'd been some statement that raised Arthur's hopes. Like, "we taught the Nutrimatic to make your tea Arthur, but...". No.

"And what?" Arthur sighed.It shouldn't have been possibly for Ford's teeth to glint, but they did it anyway. "And the heaters will go off for a while too. It's quite cold in space. We might have to huddle for warmth!"

"Oh no!" Arthur snapped," No Ford, I'm not falling for that one again. It was believable enough when we were freezing in Norway, or when Slartibartfast refused to turn up the air conditioner on the Bistromath, or even when you broke all the windows on the first floor of my house that one winter, but not this time! I'm not that gullible, thank you very much."

And yet, despite his protests, an hour later found Arthur, teeth chattering, allowing a smug looking Ford to cuddle him.


	31. Color Me Loved

**Word Count: **235

** Prompt: **088. School

* * *

"Oh my, what's that!?" Arthur gasped and pointed at the deck's window.

The space around the ship was no longer an endless blackness. A spectrum of color was splayed across the stars; every shade and hue imaginable seeming to wash over the universe like an infinite rainbow. Some pastels peeked through the window, casting the room in a soft light.

"Wow!" Ford remarked, surprised. He watched the spectacular sight over Arthur's shoulder. "That's a school of pigmers! They're like fish, see, except in space instead of water. Pretty amazing, huh?"  
"Pretty amazing." Arthur repeated. He stuck his hand in a beam of light, the mellow purple blending with a bright pink and bursting into a deep green. "You've seen it before?"

"Hmm? Oh no, I've only read about it. It's really rare." Ford paused, grinning to himself. "Do you know what the story about pigmer fish is?"

"No. What?"

"Well, they say that pigmer feed on emotions. Specifically, love. And so the story goes that they only appear around ships whose inhabitants are in love."

This seemed to distract Arthur for a moment. "In love? But we're the only ones here right now."

Ford gave Arthur a not so sly glance. "I know."

Arthur blushed. "Err..Ford, I..um.."

"But," the Betelgeusian said, turning his attention to the window," that's just the story."

Coughing, Arthur tired to rub the color from his cheeks. "Just the story. Right."


	32. Come Apart

Prompt: 003. Ends  
Word Count: 305  
A/N: Thanks for the recent surge of favs. and alerts! And the reviews, of course! Also, this chapter, Ends, is followed by Middles, then Beginnings. I'll post them in that order.

* * *

Ford couldn't answer right away. 

This wasn't something he could just smooth over. Usually when he dug a hole for himself, he left enough room to climb out. Not this time. 

Arthur's lips were pursed together so tightly that his face was white, a drained and pale color offset by the bright, angry blotches of red that were his cheeks. "Well?" He asked. He didn't sound angry. He didn't sound anything at all. 

Little Ford's were scrambling around the metaphoric walls of Big Ford's brain, searching for something, anything to say that would help their situation. They failed, spectacularly. 

"Well….er, Arthur. " The Betelgeusian paused. He wasn't at a loss for words. Ford Prefect had never been speechless in his life. But it would have been a lot easier if he hadn't been just a little, maybe, on the edge of panicking. "It wasn't like that." 

"Oh." Arthur's hands twisted in his sleeves. "Like what?" 

"It didn't mean anything, Arthur. It was just a, a thing, you know?" Ford winced. Not the right thing to say. Not at all. "She was just a….some girl, Arthur!" 

The band of tension surrounding them snapped and let loose a tidal wave of anger. "Some girl?" Arthur howled. "Just some girl? For someone who's just some girl, she seemed to be giving you an awfully good time, considering you'd rather spend the night with her than me. But then again, I suppose I'm just some man, aren't I?" 

"No!" Ford gasped. "Arthur, I-" 

"Save it, Ford." The human interrupted. "You're not the only one who doesn't have to stick around in places they don't want to be."' 

Ford starred at the retracing man's back. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. 

"But I do want to be with you." He said, finally, to the empty room.


	33. Doing Yourself Wrong

Prompt: 002. Middles  
Word Count: 280  
A/N: Follows 003. Ends.

* * *

"Don't look so down, cus. " Zaphod patted Ford's shoulder. 

He wasn't quite sure what to do. He wanted his cousin to be at least mildly satisfied because, well, they were family, but the situation was light-years out of the range that his meager comforting skills could handle. 

'Down' was an understatement. Ford Prefect was so down he was sideways, flipped upside-down, and dunked in a bucket of topsy-turvy. He was pale, tired, frazzled, upset, and painfully sober. His eyes, hollow looking, stared dispassionately at the array of drinks Zaphod had set before him. He sighed heavily. 

The former galactic president twirled an olive-topped toothpick between the fingers of his third hand. The other two clasped a drink each. "Look, Ford, I still don't see what the big deal is. I mean, look at you! You're in the middle of your prime! Nobody's gonna blame you if you want to have a little fun once in a while away from that stick in the mud." Except, he added mentally, for that said stick-in-the-mud. 

Ford started to shred a damp napkin into small pieces. 

"C'mon, what self-respecting Betelgeusian would settle down at your age? Of course you don't want to be stuck with that boring old monkey." 

The ginger haired journalist mumbled something. "Huh?" asked his left head. The other leaned closer. 

"I said I do want to be stuck with that boring old monkey." Ford moaned. His head hit the table with a solid thunk. Muffled, he whined piteously," I do want to spend my time with that stick-in-the-mud. I just made a stupid mistake, that's all." 

"Oh," Zaphod took a drink. Then he took another. "Well, that's a problem."


	34. Come Together

Prompt: 001. Beginnings  
Word Count: 278  
A/N: Follows 002. Middles. Inspiration for the last three chapters? Too many soaps.

* * *

"I'm sorry." Ford said.

The silence, so thick it was almost tangible, shattered around them. Arthur's shoulders sagged. He looked as weary and tired and desperate as Ford felt.

The human sighed. "You should be."

"And I am!" Ford insisted. "I really, really am! Please, Arthur…"

They stood for a moment, in the sudden stillness. The universe as they knew it was slowly coming to a stop, trying to brake before it crashed and burned.

"I already gave you a second chance, Ford. And a third." The displaced man said, in a tone that was soaked in both hurt and accusation. Ford blinked, and blinked, and blinked. "I know. I know, Arthur. Just once more. I won't do it again."

"Yes, you will." Arthur looked around, at anything other than the Betelgeusian. "You always do."

"I might not. This is- different now."

Ford rubbed his face. He clenched his towel in both hands, looking at Arthur desperately. "You left." He whispered loudly, "You just left me."

Clenching his jay, Arthur breathed deeply, "Of course I left. I was tired of you-you!" his anger deflated, leaving him looking more haggard than before. "Of the ways it made me feel."

"You'd never left me before."

"I thought you might change." The you didn't was unspoken, but Ford's stomach twisted as if Arthur had shouted it.

"I am." He blurted out. "I mean, right now, as we speak. I'm changing. Since you left. I think-"

The universe was winding up, rolling over, getting ready to go, go,go. Ford Prefect knew what he wanted more than he had ever wanted before. "I think I'm beginning to see how much I like you."


	35. Here, Now

Prompt: 079. When?  
Word Count: 266  
A/N: Okay, this chapter isn't much. But the next chapter is a crossover and is about 2000 words. I've had it done for a while but...well, I'm pretty lazy when it comes to typing. You may have noticed, I make a lot of mistakes and blah blah. It's just boring, typing a lot. But I'll try to get it done soon. I don't know if anyone will like it, since it is a crossover, but I'm pretty fond of it myself.

* * *

There's one universe where Ford never meets Arthur. He never comes to earth. He never has an adventure as grand as he might. He's happy enough, mostly, but when he dies he's alone, and lonely, and has been lonely for a long time and he doesn't even know what he's missing.

Some places are better than others. In one, it's Ford who comes to earth and goes to a party and picks up a human, and it's strange because Arthur is not his type, not at all. But it works, it really does. Maybe they save the world and maybe they don't.

Sometimes the most obvious thing happens. Arthur is a human, from earth, and he's not meant to live in space. He's killed, then, by accident or murder or maybe he falls to some ultra-subtle space disease that his human body has no hope of fighting. However it happens, that doesn't matter, but it does happens. And it's horrible and tragic and it crumbles a place in Ford's heart that's more human than he ever realized.

Somewhere they make it and somewhere they don't. When they're happy or when they're sad or when they live happily ever after or not so much; that's only important in those places. But here, now, in this very place, this Ford and Arthur are the way they should be. In this moment, Ford has Arthur, Arthur has Ford, and this universe is calm. And whether turmoil comes or goes or waits for the perfect moments to strike doesn't matter. There is only the here, and the now, that matters.


	36. Of Swans and Settling Down

Prompt: 025. Strangers  
Word Count: 2,593  
A/N: Crossover with Hot Fuzz. Personally, I think it got a bit boring, so I promise not to write any more crossovers. Despite my want to read a Big Wolf on Campus/Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. And hey, it only took me two months to type this!

* * *

The latest edition of the Stanford Citizen, which had been out of commission since the demise of its lead writer and Editor, Tim Messenger, via falling concrete, was an odd one. Previous editions of the Stanford Cit., had largely been founded on sundaes and gratuitous misspellings, which was a sort of oddity itself, but most of the readers, Stanford's citizens, had never heard of Snaggle-backed Frottleggers, nor heard of its plight against the ravenous flesh-eating Piddleteeth of Maneverous Nine. That is, of course, until it graced the front page of the newly staffed Stanford Cit.

The Andes (as in, Detectives Andrew Cartwright and Andrew Wainwright) found this issue almost, but not quite, as entertaining as they'd found the notorious 'Angle' issue.

"Look at this shit!" Andy exclaimed, while Andy dropped a coin in the swear box.

Nicolas Angel, street hardened police sergeant, glanced up critically from his own issue, "I am looking at it." His partner, Danny Butterman, was studying a sketch of the plighted creature on page two. "Well I don't think its shit- thanks Doris-" because Doris Thatcher dropped a coin in the swear box,"actually, I think its sort of interesting."

"Interesting." The Andes echoed, with matching eye rolls. Nicholas folded his paper and sighed, interrupting the Andes before they could start out on a degrading rant. They'd get enough of those in throughout the rest of the day, for sure. 'Alright, alright. That's enough. Don't you lot have work to do? C'mon Danny, we've got patrol."

Danny crammed the paper into a fold and tucked it under his arm.

As soon as their fun-sucker of a sergeant left, Tony Fischer leaned forward over his desk," Sooo…"

"I think," Doris answered, "the interesting part ain't what's written, but who's writtin' it." She eyed her nails with all the self-satisfaction of a gossip who knew something good that nobody else did.

"Whazutit?" PC Bob Walker mumbled. Saxon, the SPDs faithful canine, snoozed at his feet.

"Well," Doris said. She paused, tapping her chin with a look of serious contemplation. "Doris," the rest of the staff intoned.

"Oh, alright." Doris, always one to enjoy telling the latest bit of juice to hit Stanford, gave in, " I saw 'em at the pub night before last. Cindy—you know Cindy? Darlene's cousin's sister-in-law's nephew's girl from Beiuford?" The others nodded. Of course they knew Cindy. "Right, Cindy pointed 'em out. Two blokes from London, yeah? Been living in the country a while, I think, but not around here. And they're, well, y'know. Peculiar."

"Peculiar?" Danny asked. The others starred. "Forgot my pad," he added, retrieving said standard issue ticket book from his desk.

"Right. Peculiar." Doris repeated, waggling her fingers and eyebrows. "You know."

"Not really, no." Looking confused, Tony scrunched his face up.

"Woah, woah." Said Andy Cartwright, eye wide beneath his dark glasses. "You mean…peculiar?" asked Andy Wainwright, with a matching expression.

"Yes!" Doris said.

"Bloody hell." They echoed.

"What?!" Tony demanded.

"I don't get it." Danny squinted.

"Oh, they're bloody poofs!" Andy snapped, while the other Andy gave Danny a 'duh, stupid' look. "They're a couple of fags!" he added loudly, just as Nicolas walked in.

"Who's a couple of fags?" he asked, automatically, before shaking his head and asking Danny, "I thought you said you were just grabbing your pad."

"The new newspaper guys." Andy laughed. "No wonder the paper's so queer." He and his partner laughed raucously.

"What?" Nicolas asked again, reflexively. He caught himself, "Ah, no, never mind. That doesn't matter. Just get back to work. Come on Danny."

There was something very awkward about two men living together in Stanford. Not that it was unheard of (the Andes lived together, but, well, they were the Andes) but still. All the men who had lived together like that had..er..moved away soon enough.

"S'that where they live?" Danny asked. "Who?" Nicolas glanced up from his eye sweep of the bushes. The thing about bushes, you know, is that all kinds of things can hide in them. Like swan.

"The blokes running the newspaper, Nic. That's what we're talking." Danny sounded exasperated.

"I thought we were talking about the swan." Nicolas sighed. He looked at the cottage Danny gestured toward and made a face, "Oh. That really fits in with the village's rustic aesthetic."

This was a sarcastic comment because it did not fit in at all with the village's rustic aesthetic. Quite the opposite, actually. It had, at one time, but it was now decked out in strange metal plates, odd moving rods sticking out in various places, and weird, bright colored plants decorated the porch. A black flamingo was staring out from the lawn along with its brothers, blue and green.

"What's all that stuff?" Danny asked.

"Those are sub-etha receptors," announced a voice from behind him. A ginger-haired man pointed at the scrutinized object, managing to show an outstanding amount of teeth when he smiled, "It's just so difficult to get good reception on this pla—er, in the country."

Danny blinked. Several times, in sympathy for his suddenly watery eyes. "You live there? Are you the guy running the Stanford Citizen?"

"The Stanford Citizen. Yep, that's me." He looked vaguely annoyed, in a strange 'I don't really care because I'm too cool' kind of way. "I wanted to change the name to something more…flashy, but Arthur says you can't just move into a town and change the name of their paper. But really, I think I'd be doing you a favor."

"Er, right." Danny wiped his hands on his pants, then offered it to the other man," I'm Danny Butterman, police constable for the Stanford Police Department."

The man looked at his hand for a moment before blinking, finally. "Oh, right." He shook it enthusiastically. "I'm Ford Prefect." He offered his hand to Nic, grinning again in a way that had to make his cheeks sore.

"Like the car?" Danny asked vaguely, unheard over Nicolas's introduction of "Nicolas Angel, police sergeant. Welcome to Stanford."

"Right, right. Well, I was just heading off to the pub. I thought it was that way-" he pointed to the direction he'd come from, " but I suppose it's—"

"That way." Danny supplied helpfully, pointing in the opposite direction.

"Right. I figured as much."

"Actually," Danny clapped Ford on the shoulder, pointedly not glancing at his partner, "It's about lunch time, so why don't you join us for a pint? Give you a ride."

"Danny ,we still haven't caught the…" Nicolas trailed off when he saw Danny widen his eyes and quiver his lower lip pleadingly. He sighed. "Alright."

Arthur rather liked Stanford. It was a big bigger than Cottington, which was more for Ford's benefit than his own, but still much smaller than London. And it had won village of the year for so-so years, which meant—er—something. Things were really turning out quite well. This particular planet, while not his earth, was amazingly similar. The perfect place to settle down.

The years of time travelling, dimension crossing, and hyperspace jumping had been kind to Arthur. Living in a spaceship, as it turned out, was actually very good for your health. This was probably the Universe's way of making up for all the other danger it contained. Nonetheless, Arthur was a bit older, and he'd been ready to find some place quiet. The fact that Ford had agreed to come with him, and even found such a perfect place for them to go, had been a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Even Betelgeusians like to settle down eventually, as long as there's a good bar around, Ford had explained. Whether this was true or not, Arthur had no idea, but he wasn't about to complain.

And the cottage. The cottage was wonderful. It was just the right kind of roomy, comfortable, and in a quiet, nice neighborhood. Arthur liked it so much that he didn't even mind Ford's attempt at decorating.

The one thing he didn't like about the cottage was that it was currently occupying a swan.

"Er, yes. A swan." Arthur said into the telephone.

Really, who did you call when a swan breaks into your house? Swan-busters? There hadn't been a number for animal control in the Stanford Phonebook. So he'd called the police. If the giant hole in his kitchen's screen door was anything to go by, this definitely counted as breaking and entering. "What does it look like?" Arthur echoed the police correspondent. "It's…well, it's mostly white with some black around the facial area…it's got some feathers. Lots actually. It…It's a swan."

Arthur squinted at the swan. "It's just sitting there. Hmm? Well, that's not the point, is it? How would you feel about a swan sitting on your kitchen counter? It's unsanitary."

The swan quacked and pecked at Arthur's sugar bowl.

"Yes, please." Arthur said desperately. "Send someone over, please. Thank you, Doris." Hanging up the phone, Arthur sighed loudly. "Well…" he addressed the swan, running a hand through his hair, ".. at least you're just a normal swan. At you're not some alien from another planet who just happens to look like a swan, but nobody knows it because, well, I suppose the people on this planet are rather like the humans from my planet."

"Actually, that's exactly what I am." said the swan.

"I was afraid you'd say that." admitted Arthur.

"Look, I don't meant to impose," the swan ruffled its feathers, "but really, it's not often that visitors come here, to this planet, much less here, to this town! I've been stuck here for a very long time, you see."

"Really?" Arthur asked, politely. He started to boil water for tea. He deserved a good cup right now. Or two.

The swan stretched its wings. "Oh yes. I just meant to pop in for a bit of sight-seeing, see how the uncivilized half of the galaxy lives, you know. But my ride never came back…So I've been…"

"Stuck." Arthur finished for it. He set his tea bag into the steaming mug. "Yes, I know how that is. Tea?'

"No thanks."

Arthur sipped his tea. The swan preened its feathers. "So…" Arthur cleared his throat, " What exactly is it that you want me to do?"

"Oh." The swan honked, "If I could just use one of your sub-etha connected communication lines, please, that'd be wonderful. I saw the receptors outside .By the way, that's a nice setup you've got."

"Thanks." Arthur scratched his nose. "Well, I don't really know about that sort of stuff. You're welcome to, er, look around the house and find the…um…space telephone, but I really don't know what or where it could be."

"Right O." Uttered the swan in a deep quack.

The swan jumped/fluttered off the counter. It waddled into the living room. Arthur made another cup of tea. Stranger things had happened.

"Excuse me," asked Ford, still not understanding why exactly he'd been dragged out of a perfectly good pub to hide in the bushes outside his own home, "there's a what in my house?"

"A swan!" hissed Danny, followed by a "shhhh" from Nicolas. He lowered his voice, " A swan, from Stacker Farms. It's Stanford's most wanted. Doris, that's our correspondent, she got a call from your house saying the swan was there."

"Right." Ford nodded. He shuffled around, swatting leaves from his hair. In a vaguely concerned tone, he asked, "It's not dangerous, is it?" These days, he found this sort of thing made him a little more than vaguely concerned, but that didn't mean he had to show it.

"Nah. Just really bloody annoying."

"Oh good." Ford added, " Arthur doesn't like dangerous things. Puts him in a mood something awful."

"Well, don't worry, sir." Nicolas was watching the house through a pair of binoculars. "We'll take care of it." He caught sight of something white and feathery passing by a window. "SWAN! Danny, go 'round front. Go, go, go!"

Two of SPD's finest split up to catch the swan, leaving an amused Ford Prefect in the bushes. Ford shook the dirt from his pants and meandered his way into the kitchen from the side door. "Morning, Arthur." Ford greeted his friend, brushing some feathers off the counter.

"Afternoon, Ford." Arthur corrected, smiling warmly, "Tea?"  
"Not right now, thanks." Ford looked around, "Where's the swan?"

"It wanted to use your…sub-etha phone or something."

"Ah." Ford began to shuffle through the cabinets. "Hey, what happened to that packet of craps I bought yesterday?" Arthur gave him an exasperated look. "You ate them. On the way back from the store. Just wait, I'll start lunch. I didn't think you'd be back from the pub so soon."

"I wouldn't have been, but these cops at the pub made me come with them to catch the swan." Ford obediently moved out of the way as Arthur moved around the kitchen. "It didn't bite you or anything, did it?"

"Oh no, it was actually very polite." Taking sandwich supplies out of the fridge, Arthur mused aloud, "To be honest, I'd already forgotten about calling the police. They're after the swan? Where are they?"

An awful crash of crunching wood and shattering glass startled Arthur. The thankfully plastic jar of mayonnaise hit the floor in time with Arthur's surprised gasp.

"I think they're in the living room." Ford supplied helpfully.

"SWAN!" yelled two voices from the other room. A mass of sleek feathers hurdles into the kitchen in a flurry of flapping wings," Thank for the help, ol chap." It squawked in a panicked, breathy way before flying out the door.

Two blurs of SPD standard uniforms shot after it. "There it goes, get it!"

Arthur picked up the mayonnaise. "Turkey or ham," he asked Ford.

"Both, please. And hey, none of that yellow stuff, it gives me a runny nose." yawned the Betelgeusian.

"What?!" came a startled cry from the yard. Danny Butterman's voice dripped with shock and disbelief. "Did…bloody hell! It just 'poofed'! Disappeared."

"Bloody hell." Nicolas echoed.

"You now," the human, Arthur Dent, gestured around his new home, "I like it here."

"Mmm." Ford agreed, crunching on a pickle, "S'quiet."

They shared a smile over the kitchen counter.

"I-…thanks for coming with me, Ford." Arthur swallowed, throat suddenly dry. " I really didn't think you would."

Ford gave him a rare, serious look. "Of course I came, Arthur." A slow, cheeky, familiar grin made its way across his face, "Besides, if I didn't, who would be around to make my sandwiches?" he chuckled at the mock insulted face Arthur made.

"Er, excuse me," Nicolas stepped carefully through the giant rip that was now the kitchen's screen door. "I don't suppose either of you happened to see the swan come back through here?"

"It got abducted by aliens," Ford told him, laughing. He took a huge bite of his sandwich.

"You know how swans are," Arthur screwed the jar lid back on, "sneaky little fellows."

"I know." The police sergeant scratched his head and turned to leave. He paused. "Have…have we met before?"

Arthur blinked, " Erm, no. No, I don't believe so. I'm Arthur Dent."

Nicolas narrowed his eyes, "Are you sure? Because you look…you look awfully familiar. Almost exactly like---"

"Nic! A ship, Nic! A bloody spaceship." Danny's excited cry interrupted, "Oh shit, the Andes are never going to believe this."

As Nicolas disappeared back in to the yard, Ford licked his fingers clean, much to Arthur's disapproval. "I could go for that cup of tea now."


	37. Down But Not Out

Prompt: 071. Broken  
Word Count: 633

* * *

Ford had been laughing. Drunk and happy and laughing and much too busy to see the irate source of his amusement pulling out a laser gun.

But Arthur had been barely tipsy, grouchy, and hadn't understood what was so funny at all. He saw.

And the next thing he could clearly remember was thinking "it's another one of those nights", before he found himself starring up at a blur of ginger and startling blue.

"Arthur," Ford's familiar voice whispered urgently, "hold still Arthur, that bloody loon got you right in the stomach. The medics are on the way!"

_I feel…fuzzy_, Arthur thought. Like he was inside a scrambled television channel.

"Stay awake, Arthur!" Ford shook him gently. But he was suddenly just so…so tired.

The next time Arthur Dent opened his eyes, he quickly snapped them shut again. Something was standing over him, and while not as disturbing as some of the things he'd seen since his first endeavor into space, it definitely wasn't the first thing he wanted to see any time he awoke.

"Mr. Dent?" a squeaky voice asked from over him. Arthur could feel the warm, damp breath of whatever it was cascading over his face. "It's good to see you awake, Mr. Dent."

"Arthur?" and that voice was a comfort, so the earthman opened his eyes. Ford starred down again, face crinkled in a strange way that Arthur usually only saw when they were facing grave danger and the Betelgeusian was concentrating on adamantly not panicking.

"What happened?" Arthur asked groggily. He realized dimly, then alarmingly, that he could not feel his torso. Or any of his lower appendages, even the important bits.

"You've had a bit of an accident, Mr. Dent, and gone through a little reconstructive surgery. Nothing major, you should get the feeling back in a few hours." The squeaky voice said, thankfully out of Arthur's line of vision.

"They stuck a piece of Vilintrusian liver in your stomach to help it regrow." Ford explained down to him, "Now you're only 99 human!"

"Oh, goody." Arthur muttered, trying to sit up. He wondered what sort of side-effects he'd experience.

The squeaky doctor pushed him down with a pink tentacle, "Stay down now, son. Wouldn't want to rip open your new skin, would you?"

_I most certainly would not_, Arthur thought irritably, but it seemed impolite to say. He was only more irritated when Ford laughed at him.

"I don't see what you're so upset about," the ginger haired man mocked Arthur's facial expression, "This is your chance to rest. I can't very well drag you across the universe while your regrowing one of those important human pieces."

"And, um-" Arthur blinked several times, mind still muddled, "why exactly am I regrowing a human piece at all?"

"Oh, uh." Ford looked vaguely uncomfortable. He disappeared from Arthur's view for a few second before leaning forward again. "You saved my life. That zarking madman shot at me and you got in the way. Took a laser to the stomach. You're bloody lucky we weren't too far from a med dock!"

"I don't remember any of that." Arthur yawned. "Is my dressing gown alright?"

"Bloody thing barely got singed." Ford said dismissively. "Listen Arthur, you saved my life."

Arthur rubbed at his eyes with hands that felt heavy, absurdly heavy. He could barely pick them up, he was so tired. "Well, you always save me. So I owe you , right."

"Well…I suppose."

"I'm going to sleep." Arthur said, because he was.

"Oh, alright." Ford rolled his eyes. "I'll be here when you wake up, I guess."

"Good…" Arthur mumbled, eyes shutting.

"But not because I'm worried about you or anything. They've just got great cable here." Ford tried to explain, but Arthur had already drifted off to sleep….


	38. That Time of the Artificial Month

I'm sorry, really, but I just keep forgetting about this story. Not that I don't love it, because how fun is it to write Ford/Arthur, even when it's silly? (lots of fun) I just get distracted by other fandoms and such and forget to write for this.

Prompt: 063. Summer

* * *

Summer in the Heart of Gold is exactly like every other time of year on the ship--metal, mechanic, and very white. Technically, there aren't really seasons, but come a certain time each month Arthur likes to go to the greenroom and crank up the warm, artificial lighting. This is Arthur's summer.

Ford crouched, elbows on his knees, next to the lounging form of his human. Arthur was stretched out on a clean towel, arms tucked loosely behind his head and a pair of glasses that looked suspiciously like something Zaphod would wear covering his eyes. He was still wearing his ratty dressing gown, of course, but the legs of his pajamas were rolled up past his knees and the shirt he was wearing had ridden well up his midriff.

Ford smiled a slow, toothy smile. The view was nice. "Arthur." he finally said, when it was apparent that the human wasn't going to jump up because of his presence. "This is boring."

"Says you." the human muttered.

"Yes, that's right. I said it." Ford agreed. "Listen Arthur, wouldn't you rather be out doing...stuff?"

"Stuff?" the human repeated, in a tone that let Ford know he didn't really care. "What sort of stuff?"

"Oh, you know." Ford spent a few more minutes staring at exposed flesh. "We could go to a bar."

"No." Arthur said, not even taking time to contemplate it. "I'd really rather not."

"We could..." Ford tried to think of something besides a bar. He thought hard. "We could hang out on the deck and make fun of Zaphod."

"Hm. " Arthur yawned. "Tempting. But I'm rather comfortable right here."

"Arthur." he sighed. He ran a hand through his ginger hair.

Arthur was pretty much ignoring him. It was infuriating...and a total turn on. Ford could feel his lips stretching into a smile, his eyes glued to the warm body spread out beneath him like a gift from Zarquon.

"Well..."he began slyly, "we could always ...you know..." He let his fingers creep away from him, brushing the tanned skin.

Arthur's nose crinkled. His glasses slid down a bit. "What?"

"You know." Ford urged, flattening his palm on Arthur's stomach. His eyes darkened.

"Wh-Oh." Arthur's eyes snapped open. "Oh." A blush crept across his face and the Betelgeusian felt the skin under his hand heat up.

"Well..." he prompted, eager.

"I...er.." Arthur coughed. "I suppose...we could..."

"Great!" Ford grinned, teeth flashing wickedly in the bright light. And wasn't it just the perfect weather for an afternoon romp?


	39. Tapes

Tapes  
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy /Be Kind Rewind  
Prompt: ?  
Word Count:422  


* * *

"Have you got Casablanca?" Arthur finally asked, a little freaked out by the looks he was getting from the guy behind the counter. Personally, he thought the day had already gone all spoiled. Arthur didn't see why he was the one having to run errands when it was Ford who wanted to see the film.

"You look familiar." Mike grinned. Bathrobes weren't the strangest thing people had showed up at the shop in. He wasn't sure anything could beat Robo-Cop, anyway.

Arthur squinted at the man behind the counter. "You too." he replied. He squinted a little more. "Actually, the resemblance is uncanny. I don't suppose you were born on a planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?"

"Born and raised here in Passaic." Mike said proudly. "No seriously, you know who you make me think of? The perfect guy to be in our next film." He nodded vigorously to make a point. Seriously, they wouldn't even need to find a bathrobe – this guy was already dressed for the role.

"Well that's strange." Arthur waved his hand vaguely. He picked up Space Balls. He set it back down. He picked up 2001: A Space Odyssey. He set it back down.

"So?" Mike asked.

"So..."Arthur shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're asking for."

"So do you want to be in our movie?" Mike expounded.

Arthur looked around the shop. He looked at his dressing gown. He thought about how he'd been told to sit tight and that they'd be back to pick him up in a while. He thought about what _in a while_ meant to Zaphod Beeblebrox. "Is it about space?"

"No."

"Aliens?"

"Nope."

Arthur paused, clearly debating. "Do you have any tea?"

"No." Mike said, and held up a finger. "But I can get some."

Arthur smiled for the first time since he'd walked into the shop. For the first time since he'd been dumped on this planet. "Okay then." he agreed.

Two days later, Ford couldn't decide what made him madder – the fact that Arthur had not done the one thing he was asked to do and pick up a new copy of Casablanca, or the fact that some nobody who just happened to be remarkably handsome had gotten to sleep with the earthman before he did.

"What's he got that I don't?" Ford mumbled, and pointedly didn't think about the numerous _take one step closer and I throw this lamp at your head_ rejections that he'd gotten over the years.

"Tea." Trillian said knowingly. She was right.


End file.
